Their Marks
by TWNJ
Summary: Perhaps it was his concussion or the fact that he hated his fathers round about way of speaking but whatever it was, he did not like the sound of that last bit.' ShikaTema


Their Marks

He rubbed it gingerly with the tip of his finger. A sting lingered for a while each time he did this; perhaps he should stop. It hadn't really registered how much damage the battle had ensued but the kunai had carved its way down one side; from his left eyebrow to the bottom of his cheek. _Great _he grumbled to himself. His eye wept slightly, which seeped back into the gash. It did_ not_ help.

He slouched unceremoniously over the kitchen table, sitting on a backwards turned chair. He hadn't bothered to turn it round, deciding to simply sling his legs over each side as if riding a small Shetland pony.

His chest was slightly constricted in his flak jacket leaning forward on to the back of the chair, his head resting on the table surface; his arms lose at his sides. It didn't matter though, he quite liked the sensation. It felt secure.

He let the cool wooden surface of the table soothe his wound; it wasn't as appeasing as a hand full of healing chakra, but would do for the time being. _Or at least until I have to move again…_

His mother would most likely wake in a few hours time to begin her early morning clean and would start to carp on about how his blood would be staining her precious oak table. He sighed at the though that his own mother was more concerned about furniture than the well being and comfort of her own son. Not that he really minded; he supposed it was a sign of her faith, in his abilities, as a shinobi, to come back unscathed and intact. Whilst this confidence was reassuring to him and his father, he often wandered whether it was in fact denial more than faith. As if she was reluctant to except that they could, and by his calculations, had a great chance, of slipping up in the field.

He shifted his head slightly at this thought and noted the red cracks and lines on the surface as his blood soaked in to the grain of the wood. She would hassle him to move.

He would have to move eventually.

And she would send him back to HQ to get treatment, which as always, was unnecessary. It was just a scratch; a scratch that nipped like a bitch to the extent of his eyes beginning to water, but scratch none the less.

There was a sequence of noises from outside and he snapped his lazy eyes open only to close them again when he recognised his father's usual mumbled curse as he tripped over the gate, returning home. _And he's a Jounin?_ He moved his head again to a new spot on the table - one that was cooler – and relaxed his neck again.

At least he had stopped bleeding.

The kitchen door creaked open slowly in a trying manner. Shikamaru made no indication that someone had entered the dark room. He blinked slowly however as the light that he had purposely left off flickered on. Shikaku took a cautious step onto the cracked yellow linoleum, expecting the room to be empty at this hour. He closed the door with a dull click and gave a great sigh. Still Shikamaru sat motionless at the table.

Apart from being overwhelmingly tired, he had no desire to talk shop-talk with his father. It always turned out the same anyhow; his father would make pointless comments and remarks about how Shikamaru should have done things and he would get annoyed but give up the arguing anyway on the grounds that it was 'troublesome'.

And it was exceptionally troublesome.

This hypothesis was only proven correct however when he heard the almost silent snort his father gave, spotting his son lounging on the table. There was silence for a moment as he stared as his sons back. He would start drinking soon, which might prevent him from verbalizing any "observations" he might make. Though depending on how drunk he got, it was highly unlikely.

"Black op.?" his father's gruff voice questioned. He sounded as though he had not spoken in some time, and cleared his throat.

"Ano …no" Shikamaru replied inexpressively. " Why'd juh think tha'?", his pronunciation altered by the slab of wood pressing against his cheek.

He could hear his father final move again further into the room.

"I was speaking to the Hokage". His answer was accompanied by the clink of china and scrape of a sake bottle on the counter.

His father would regularly come home from a mission and get slowly but surly off his head. Shikamaru found he didn't much like the taste and imagined his father only used the nippy drink to relax after his work; quietly drinking away the horrors he had seen the previous nights.

Shikamaru gave a small smile and lifted his head off the table. "…t's a bit dangerous, don't you think?" he strained.

He looked down where his head had rested; he defiantly needed to wash that before his mother rose. He heard his father gasp after taking a large swig of sake. He tried to clear his throat again and took a sideways glance at Shikamaru's back. "hm?"

"…asking such questions. It's a bit dangerous." he replied still with his back turned. His father cocked an eyebrow at his son waiting for an explanation, but did not stop him from taking a slow slurp from his glass.

Turning his head to the right just enough, Shika saw his father pick up a shougi piece on the board that was always laid out on the breakfast bar. He scratched his stubby beard with the corner of the Queen, deciding where to place it.

Shika made a mental note never to pick that piece up again.

" You could get yourself killed asking about these things. You may be my father but I would have had to report you for even knowing about certain…actions, konoha may take." He drawled with a small grin. He knew his father dealt in one black op or another but it was forbidden to talk to others about said missions. Besides, it was only dad.

Shikaku sighed and chuckled to himself. "Boy, I've been involved in them since before you were born" he raised his glass as if a toast to his own son's challenge "you can't scare me".

" you always say that" Shikamaru laughed lazily turning around in his chair so only his right side was facing his father. "is there anything that does scare you?"

Shikaku considered this for a moment, swirling the drizzles in his glass. Shikamaru propped up his head with his hand leaning against the table, taking extra care not to disturb the healing gash on his cheek. He could almost smell the sake from were he sat, which was not a good sign.

" your mother" he said at last, in a matter of fact way. Shika snorted softly, barely able to keep his eyes open. He remembered the amount of times his father had had to sneak back into the house after hours in the sake bars or when he had bad news about a mission he would be going on. Sometimes he would just do it anyway, to avoid any argument about anything.

"…troublesome" he said after a moment or two of thought. He couldn't remember a time when his father wasn't cursing his wife for one reason or another nor when she wasn't hitting him with rolled up papers. He always wandered why they had even stayed together. _Was probably cause he knocked her up… _he grinned to himself.

"Speaking of troublesome" his father snapped out of his thought induced trance

"I saw that…eh….what's-her-face" he spun his hand about looking for the name "..in the Hokage tower"

"who?", Shika asked thickly, not really listening and almost asleep.

He heard his father sit down on the stool near the counter. " That Tema girl, you know the one" he said casually taking a sip of his drink.

Shikamaru's eyes immediately snapped open and stared at the wall in horror.

"…Temari?" he said with care, glancing around at his father, who was idly taking off his weapons holster.

"yeah that's the one….you know she's - "

"Troublesome? Yeah figured that out a while ago" Shika cut him off. He did not want to talk about _her_. She was…difficult, to say the least. He sighed inwardly and pressed on his cut again.

His father looked up as if mulling over something, licking one of his eye teeth. "…..very skilled shinobi.."

Shika nodded grudgingly along.

Pause.

"….great legs…."

"hhmmm" he agreed absentmindedly "Yeah- what!??"

His father sniggered.

"she does not!" shika shot back before his father could say anything else that he would regret hearing, especially from his father. His whole body had turned around now to face Shikaku who was still taking small sips of sake.

Shika sighed heavily and leaned back against the chair and pouted. He was becoming tense just thinking about her. " ….troublesome women" he mumbled, more to himself than any one else. His father swallowed and turned to look his son in the face for the first time since he got back.

"why? What did she ever do-" But he stopped abruptly with a raised eye brow. He too, turned fully on his stool and leaned back against the counter with both his elbows. An odd silence took over the room. Shikamaru stared expressionless at this father waiting for him to finish what he was saying. But Shikaku did not. He just stared.

As much of an only child Shikamaru was, he never needed or liked too much attention. In fact he hated being the centre of attention and when possible, opted to stay hidden in the background. He had always been like that and had not changed his ways even now that he was a team captain. And this is why he began to feel incredibly uncomfortable with each second passing in his father stare.

"..what?"

The ninjas face relaxed in to a knowing grin after a few awkward minutes and kept this irritating visage up, as he took his sake from the counter and strolled over to the table where shika sat.

"you're starting to look more and more like your old man every day"

Shikamaru eyed his father, still puzzled at his sudden change. _He couldn't have had that much to drink… _His father groaned as he lowered himself onto the hard wooden chair. He placed his sake bottle in between himself and his T-total son, picked up his shot glass and leaned on the table with his elbows.

Shika frowned at this comment but turned his chair around none the less. Many had remarked at him and his father's similarity, but had never before heard it from Shikaku himself. His father leaned back and took another swig. _Now_ _I see why mum hates the drinking… _he sighed inwardly still watching him.

"So.." he placed his glass down on the blood soaked table, which he did not give two tosses about.

"…did she do it with a senbon or a kunai?" he said holding back a burp. Shikamaru frowned even more trying hard to figure out what the old man was speaking about.

"Temari. How'd she do it?" he pointed towards shikamaru's scar with the hand that held his sake.

His son stared blankly at this him for a few minutes.

…… _shit_

Maybe he could think up a lie with that huge brain of his and tell him it was some heroic accident; saving children from a burning building? No, too corny. Fighting another Akatsuki member….and winning? No; old news. Being thrown form a great height by your sensei into a bottomless pit?...hadn't Naruto already done that?

No it was useless. Shikamaru knew what he had to do; he had no other choice. Word would get around eventually so it was inevitable that his father would find out. No, shikamaru must do what he knew would kill his father ; not from hurt, or fright nor shame (well, partly shame, but only a small part) but from laughter. What he would tell him would make his father piss his pants…..and make shika grind his teeth to stumps.

He got beat by a girl….again.

He gave a low grumble of defeat and folded his arms tightly over his flak jacket. Shikaku looked away from him. They had walked into each other at HQ and being the kind of women she was, pulled a jutsu on him. He would pay her back.

"…her… fan" he said with great difficulty, shaking his head at the table, in disgust. His father was sure to laugh at him; just had to wait a few more seconds and his father's low husky laugh would fill the room and most likely wake his mother. But it never came.

" Tradition" his father eventually said after a long pause and poured himself another.

Shika's head shot up and he pulled a puzzled face at Shikaku. _Tradition? What is he on about? _

"Tradition!" his father said again as if that would make everything become clear to the boy. He held the glass up to his mouth; raising his eye brows just enough to keep his eyes open. He was perhaps a little drunk now. _What sort of sick tradition requires facial disfigurement?_

Upon taking another mouthful, he noticed this quizzical expression and stopped mid swig.

"you see this here?" he pointed to one of the larger scars on his own face, leaning forward so the delightful aroma of alcohol could reach shikamaru's nostrils.

" you think I got this on the job? Psh" he scoffed and downed his sake.

Shika looked at the gash on his slightly wrinkled skin; it started from the top of his brow and ploughed diagonally across his eye and down to the opposite cheek bone. He had gotten use to this sight on his fathers face and so had never looked twice at it before. It was his battle scars; a mark of great honour to show that he fought for his village in a time of need.

" Your mother" he ended and looking away form his son with a slightly bitter tone, jutting is jaw out.

"…hu?" shikamaru finally let out, crinkling up his nose. His mother?

"uh-hmmm" he father agreed with Shikamaru as if reading his mind. He swallowed what Shika could only imagine was his 10th glass of the dreadful stuff known as sake and continued.

"Senbon; right down the old mug" he posed as if throwing a javelin.

Shika noticed how his father became more open when he was half-cut. He would never have revealed this potential embarrassment otherwise, being the quite type like his son. Or perhaps with it being too troublesome a task….

"and you know what's stranger?" he said, words becoming more and more slurred. _More strange than finding out that your mother frigin' attacked you dad?_

"it happen' to the Stag as well" he pointed up the way this time to the ceiling. Shika wasn't sure where this was going but listened nevertheless. He had never heard much about his grandfather; he had died long before he was born and his parents rarely talked about him; only small anecdotes here and there when necessary.

In his day he was named the Stag for his reasons Shikamaru was also never told. He was the first to start collecting and researching medicines found in the forest that their family had watched over for many generations. Medicines such as the ones used to save Shikamaru's best friend after the sound 5 fight. Other than that, his father kept tight lipped about him; never spoke. And so it was always a surprise when he did.

Shika stared, squint eyed at the table. His jaw felt tight all of a sudden.

"Yup" his father responded to nothing in particular. He licked his lips and blinked hard. He looked very tired indeed, almost as tired as Shika felt.

"Old Grany did it as well….." he looked out the corner of his eye towards his son.

After a considerable amount of time in a dream, Shika sighed again and rested his head on the back of the chair, hands in pockets. So the women in the family his family were crazy after all?

"well I don't know why.." he drawled at his father

"hm?" he said for the second time that night not really paying attention.

" I mean, I don't know why she hurt me…she just does stuff like that….troublesome." he chewed the inside of his lip with frustration. "_I_ don't know what she wants" he stated darkly " troublesome women".

There was another long pause and then his father took a short breath as if to speak.

"well…we'll see" and gulped down the last drop of sake.

The scar of his faced stung as Shika furrowed his brows at the ceiling this time. "what?"

There was a scrape and his father dragged himself up and went for the door. But before he got there, spoke again.

" You know what they say."

"Never eat yellow snow?" shika tried rubbing his tired eyes

"Nara men always fall for troublesome women". And with that he left.

Perhaps it was his concussion or the fact that he hated his fathers round about way of speaking; but whatever it was he did **not** like the sound of that last bit.

* * *

A/N: this came to mean after reading the fic 'Unwritten' on this website. He is slashed in the face and i wandered what his father would have said about it...


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